


Between the Shadow and the Soul

by deathwailart



Series: Dragon Knights [OLD] [8]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Confessions, Developing Relationship, Elves, F/F, High Fantasy, Hurt/Comfort, Implied or Off-stage Dubcon, Knights - Freeform, Nymphs & Dryads, Reproductive Issues, Unwanted Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 05:55:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/618835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathwailart/pseuds/deathwailart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Title from Sonnet XVII by Pablo Neruda</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between the Shadow and the Soul

“How old were you when you became what you are?”  
  
The question makes Tanis look up from the rabbits she's skinning, eyebrow arched and nostrils flaring. Oran has the way of all nymphs, still nude – thankfully it is now less of a distraction to Tanis rendering her blushes and wayward gazes a thing of the past – and still unable or unwilling to find any topic as off-limits despite the number of times Tanis snaps. Everything is open between friends and family amongst the nymphs and now that Oran counts Tanis and Ilea as friends, she is forever asking things that make them snarl or squirm. Tanis is less forthcoming than Ilea about her people, their customs and traditions but it's only natural when so much has been lost because there are questions she can't answer and it always upsets her and that upset manifests as anger prompting her to snap then sit sullen until the fire is nothing more than failing red embers.  
  
“Seventeen,” she grinds out and before Oran says more a part of her can sense where this is leading, her focus on the rabbits as her stomach churns.  
  
“Only seventeen?”  
  
“Closer to eighteen,” Tanis adds and out of the corner of her eye she can see Ilea leaning forward with interest from where she is seated fletching arrows.  
  
“A son or a daughter?” Oran continues, her voice so light and casual that they may as well be discussing the weather. Or maybe it's Tanis who finds the discussion of children at all so painful because she didn't choose it, she only chose to be a knight with children the price.  
  
“Both. I had twins.” Twins of noble blood and she could curse her feckless father for this even if she knows that she would have done the same, the urge to be a Dragon Knight overwhelming.  
  
“Wait, you have children?” Ilea asks before the conversation can continue and Tanis could gut Oran, getting to her feet so quickly she staggers because things between her and Ilea are better than they were but it doesn't take much to upset the fragile balance they have found.  
  
“Of course she has children,” Oran continues, “Ilea all humans are expected to have at least one child especially the Dragon Knights because-”  
  
“Oran!”  
  
The shout echoes in their small clearing. A heavy silence falls over the camp for the rest of the night where they speak only when they must to pass food or utensils to one another, each taking their turn at watch. Tanis gives Oran the last watch before dawn as a punishment, not that Oran ever minds. Tanis has the first watch herself, just her and the fire and weapons to be cleaned and maintained and the familiarity of the motions settle her again so that she can sleep when Ilea relieves her. But her eyes stay on Ilea's back when the elf sits in the spot Tanis vacated, the hunch of slender shoulders. She wonders who she upset to curse her with any sort of feeling towards the elf beyond what is expected of humans towards elves but denying it did her no good, fighting it even less.  
  
“How could you not know?” Tanis demands hotly when Ilea is relieved by Oran, taking her place next to Tanis – this is Stjarnacado and the north, they always have to sleep close if they wish to remain warm but she likes the closeness to Ilea for other reasons entirely.  
  
“I don't know much about Dragon Knights beyond what you or Oran tell me,” and Tanis is grateful for Ilea answering her without pretending she needs to be reminded of the conversation halted so abruptly earlier. “Or the rumours and you taught me better than to believe what we've heard.”  
  
Tanis nods and casts a glance over to Oran who is far enough away for her to be comfortable with Ilea sliding closer. She rolls over to face the elf, firelight softening sharp features.  
  
“Dragon Knights can't have children once we receive the heart – please don't ask me why,” she cuts the question off before it can be asked, “so we have to have children before we can become knights so we keep our numbers up. Every single human is expected to have at least one child in their life. It's our duty to each other.”  
  
She feels, no, she _hopes_ that will be the end of it, letting sleep start to wash over her when Ilea has no further remarks to make.  
  
“Every child born to an elf is so precious,” Ilea finally says in the darkness after having remained silent for so long that Tanis thought her to be asleep. There is a pain in her tone, a quiet sort of grief that makes Tanis feel like an intruder. “We have so few now, it's been almost a hundred years since there were any new children in my family,” she lets the words sink in – Tanis knows how old Ilea is. “If you become pregnant you're treated like a queen, given every luxury you could ever dream of.” Her hands come to rest on the smooth skin of Tanis' belly and like with everything between them there's a silent look to ask permission for anything further. Tanis nods before she realises what she's doing and follows Ilea's hands as they trace over the faint remains of the stretch marks, still with a hint of purple or silver-white in places but for the most just pink skin, shinier, the texture smoother than the surrounding flesh.  
  
It's hard to control her breathing, her urge to run. They're trying after so many months of gnashing at one another and Tanis has never been good at restraining certain impulses that beckon to her with the glittering promise of danger. She remembers other hands upon her belly when she was a girl who thought herself a woman. Girl soldier who wanted things she had never had, arms to hold her and whisper that it would be alright. Someone who cared about her and not the things in her belly that distorted her body and made her not-herself. Her heart beats frantically and her breath catches in her throat. The hands on her belly had never been so gentle. The hands on her belly had never asked if they were allowed to touch. No, hands had grabbed at her and like so many things it had not been her place to say no and so she had stood with a jaw clenched so hard that her teeth had ached letting them cup a steadily growing swell, pressing and poking. Never content with hands above her clothes, always moving her tunics out of the way to find skin that was too hot and stretched too tight, smiling at every flutter, press or kick that had made Tanis more sick than the first few months.  
  
She realises she's trembling when one of Ilea's hands finds hers and squeezes. Her head is tipped to the side, the hand on her belly looking ready to withdraw so Tanis covers it with hers, presses it flat and holds it there until she can breathe and nod.  
  
“Marks like these are a source of great pride,” Ilea whispers with her lips beneath Tanis' navel. “I remember seeing pregnant women walking around in gowns that showed off their bellies.”  
  
“I hid mine,” Tanis admits with fingers clawing her blanket. “Tried to pretend it wasn't there. Ignored it.”  
  
“It wasn't a choice.” Ilea's voice is low and surprisingly angry, Tanis struggling to find words.  
  
“It's...it is and it isn't.” Shame threatens to choke her. There's always this need to defend her people to Ilea who is an elven princess, a symbol of ruling and power, destroying the humans, reducing them to this. Ilea is not the elves who allied with dwarves. Ilea has never taken a human life. She tries to remember that more now.  
  
“My people did this to you,” Ilea does not wait for confirmation, shocking Tanis yet again with how quick she can be to condemn her ancestors aloud to a race they almost crushed. “You would not be as you are had you not agreed to having a child.”  
  
There's a lull and Tanis realises that she's expected to answer. “No.” It pains her to admit it. Somehow she thought the years would make it easier but they don't. They just let her go longer without thinking about it but when the subject comes up it's as sharp as ever, old wounds reopening in an instant.  
  
“We stripped all choice from you.” Ilea's voice is hard, brittle as old glass.  
  
It is hard to touch Ilea with the memories of lying alone in the dark trying to ignore the writhing of a swollen belly so close to the surface. Her fingers shake as she traces one long ear ending in a point. Arrow tip. She is in bed with an arrow tip spilling secrets and finally admitting to someone how little of her life has ever truly belonged to her. The touch is brief and all too soon she is hauling her tunic back down, rolling over onto her side to curl up with her knees tight to her chest, fighting a losing battle against a wave of panic. Ilea's hand strokes soothing circles on her back as Tanis breathes, remembers where she is and finally uncurls a fraction of an inch.  
  
“It will never be easy with us, will it?” Ilea asks and Tanis can hear the pain in her voice, clear as day.  
  
“Nothing worth having is easy,” Tanis finally says haltingly. “We endure.” Her voice is stronger and less afraid, the memories creeping back to where they should be in the dark corners of her mind. She feels Ilea's soft smile when the elf brushes her hair aside to kiss the nape of her neck.  
  
“We endure then,” Ilea echoes.  
  
Tanis does not mind so much when she wakes with Ilea's arm around her, palm pressed to the flat of her belly.


End file.
